


An Unfortunate Crossing of Paths

by ApatheticRobots



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: And the humans in the middle trying to actually do things normally, Angels, Aziraphale gets shit done, Canon Divergence, Crossover, Demons, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Kidnapping, Misunderstandings, Other, but don't worry the stakes are pretty low when you take a step back and look at it all, i don't know how to tag sorry, tourist stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-06-27 09:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApatheticRobots/pseuds/ApatheticRobots
Summary: Aziraphale inhaled deeply. There was a subtle bit of love, he could tell, but very subtle. Lost under a cacophony of different emotions. (Denial? Lust? Hatred? A deeper sadness than he'd ever felt anywhere else? What on Earth went down in that nightclub??) Other than that, there was almost something he’d describe as ‘odd,’ but it wasn’t any more an odd feeling than that he got from his own bookshop. Or Crowley’s flat. General celestial background noise.ORAziraphale and Crowley (and Anathema) take a vacation to Los Angeles. Everything kind of goes pear-shaped.





	1. Did you know they have crêpes made of ice cream?

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is the first multichapter fic i think im posting with a clear end in mind. i dont have all the chapters written, but i do have the outline all set, and im going to have a good few days vacation time which will give me ample opportunity to write more :)
> 
> there's plenty other crossovers of these two, especially since they're both (semi) popular right now, but ive just recently finished both Lucifer and Good Omens and wanted to give my own try at a crossover. i love all these dumbass celestials and their Totally Done Humans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's unbeta'd, but i should be able to get a beta for chapters in the future :)

Aziraphale could hardly remember the last time he was in America. Well, actually, that was a lie: he could remember very well the last time he was in America. It had been during the Great Depression, a truly dreadful time, and he hadn’t gone back since. But it had been just short of a hundred years since then, so the economy was probably doing better, yes? And they were about due for a vacation.

With a bit of difficulty and many promises of snake pets in the future, Aziraphale managed to pester Crowley into going on a trip with him, as well as pester him into bringing that lovely lady they’d hit with the car along. Anathema, her name was. She’d mentioned something about an odd aura in a city called ‘Los Angeles’ to Aziraphale one time (a name he found oddly ironic), and he thought this would be a lovely opportunity to, ah, “kill two birds with one stone.” 

So Aziraphale closed up shop, and Crowley tasked young Pulsifer with taking care of his plants (reminding the anxious man that he had to _mean it_ when he yelled at them), and Anathema promised Newt she’d bring him back a souvenir. And the three of them packed- Crowley and, to a lesser extent, Aziraphale more for show than anything- and were seated on a plane not even a day later.

Aziraphale far preferred flying on his own. Feeling the wind in his feathers, not being confined to any sort of flight path or being trapped in a steel crisps can. But they couldn’t very well bring Anathema with them like that. Not unless they wanted to make it very awkward for at least two individuals.

So they took conventional air travel. Nearly eleven hours in the death trap they called an airplane. Aziraphale remembered when they’d been invented, he’d been just as unenthusiastic about it all as he’d been with the whole cars thing. 

But they landed with no trouble. Crowley woke up from his nap, Anathema did so much slower. They departed the airplane and secured their luggage safely. Anathema mentioned how easy it was, and that this was abnormal, and Crowley pretended very hard he hadn’t definitely snapped a tiny miracle into place to make sure they didn’t run into a hassle of any sort on their way out.

The first thing Aziraphale noticed upon stepping out of the airport and into the Los Angeles sunshine was that it was very, _very_ hot. He then promptly cooled himself down with a snap of his fingers. Crowley did something similar (he was wearing all black after all), however Anathema was left to sweat in her long dress. Unfortunately. Even the nice weather in Tadfield wasn’t as warm as it was here. 

A couple thousand years ago, had they been in this situation, he would have thought Crowley right at home. The whole ‘fire and brimstone’ aspect of Hell. A couple thousand years ago, actually, they probably wouldn’t conceivably be in any sort of situation like this. 

But the misconception had existed, and it had been cleared, as Aziraphale had seen the dim and dusty state of Hell himself.

Anyways. No one was happy with the weather.

There was a collective sigh of relief once they reached the blessedly air-conditioned hotel. Anathema had her own room booked, while Crowley and Aziraphale were sharing one. Only one bed, but Aziraphale was never a fan of sleeping anyways.

They got their rooms set up, unwound a bit after the flight, then Anathema decided she wanted to start looking around as soon as possible, and dragged the duo out to see the sights. Or whatever.

One thing about America that Aziraphale had found was that it was quite big. The cities were big, the whole country itself could hold England a dozen times over. So there was quite a lot to see. And do. And the _cuisine,_ the sheer number of _options_ Aziraphale had. Crowley had to drag him away from several interesting looking establishments. 

The whole enjoying food thing was never really Crowley’s forte. Whenever they dined, he preferred to eat his meal and be done. (Although- something Aziraphale never failed to notice was that even after Crowley’d already finished, he never tried to rush Aziraphale. And he knew how impatient Crowley could get. So it warmed his heart a little each time Crowley was willing to humor him as he savored his meal.)

“Angel,” muttered Crowley, nudging his shoulder and breaking him out of his thoughts, “look.” 

Aziraphale looked. A small shop, clearly locally owned, advertising a sort of ‘ice cream crepe’. His eyes widened slightly. Crowley’s indulgent smile did not go unnoticed.

Crowley tilted his head, gesturing at the shop. “Well, come on, then.”

A few minutes later and the three of them were continuing on their journey, each sporting a different flavored rolled ice cream crepe held in paper. Aziraphale’s had strawberries on it. 

“The things these humans come up with,” Crowley spoke again, trying to keep his chocolate ice cream from melting and getting all over his hands. 

“Simply genius,” was Aziraphale’s reply.

He continued along, simply taking in the chaos that was Los Angeles. He wondered briefly why it had been named that; The City of Angels. As far as he knew, it had already been called that by the time he showed up, and Crowley never mentioned visiting any other time. Humans _did_ have a sort of fascination with them. It may have just been a coincidence. But Aziraphale had learned that such things rarely were just anything, there was always something more behind it. 

That particular train of thought was interrupted very abruptly by a hand grabbing the back of his shirt and dragging him backward a few steps. He was about to (quite indignantly) protest the action, when he realized it had stopped him from ramming right into Anathema, who had _also_ made an abrupt action and stopped right in her tracks. She stared up at a building in front of them with such fervor Aziraphale wondered briefly if this was one of those strokes humans discussed.

Then she spoke, and her voice was low and serious. “This place,” she said. “There’s something off about it.” 

Crowley (who Aziraphale realized had been the one to stop him from running into Anathema) leaned forward a bit, peering up at the building through his sunglasses. “S’ called Lux,” he said, and a few moments later, “a nightclub, apparently.”

Anathema looked at him. “How did you know that?”

He pointed at the building. A glowing neon sign proudly proclaimed the name of the place.

“Yes, but that doesn’t explain how you knew what it was.”

He made a motion that Aziraphale recognized as him rolling his eyes behind his glasses, then gestured very vaguely with his smartphone. “‘Googled’ it or whatever.”

“Ah, yes, handy thing. Find any information in the world in seconds.” Aziraphale glanced at the phone. “Was that one of yours or ours?”

“Couldn’t tell you. Bit of both, maybe.”

“Well that implies they’d been working together since the nineteen eighties or whatever.”

“If you really want to get into this, angel-”

Anathema cleared her throat. “My _point_ is. There’s something weird about this building. Can’t you tell?”

Aziraphale inhaled deeply. There was a subtle bit of love, he could tell, but very subtle. Lost under a cacophony of different emotions. (Denial? Lust? Hatred? A deeper sadness than he’d ever felt anywhere else? What on Earth happened in that nightclub??) Other than that, there was _almost_ something he’d describe as ‘odd,’ but it wasn’t any more an odd feeling than that he got from his own bookshop. Or Crowley’s flat. General celestial background noise.

“I can’t sense anything,” Crowley said, wrinkling his nose. “Just a lot of human stuff.”

“Hm.” Anathema frowned, then shook her head. “I’m not wrong, but we don’t have to look into this any more now. Besides- I think the place is closed right now.”

“I’m not coming here when it’s open,” Crowley muttered. “Nightclub’s not really my scene.”

“You have the fashion for it, my dear.”

Crowley looked at him, expression torn between deep fondness and utter disgust. One of Crowley’s usual expressions. It meant he was annoyed by what Aziraphale had said, but also had to admit the angel had a point. 

Aziraphale was quite proud at how good he’d gotten at reading Crowley’s various moods without the demon having to use his words.

Instead of giving a responding quip, maybe a jab at Aziraphale’s fashion, he simply rolled his eyes. The only thing he said in reply was; “your ice cream’s melting, angel.” Then promptly fixed the issue with a snap of his fingers.

Aziraphale gave him a smile.

Crowley muttered something that was loud enough he clearly wanted Aziraphale to hear, and the latter could catch the words ‘spoiled’ and ‘wrapped around his pinky’. And, well. He wasn’t wrong. 

“Come on, dear,” Aziraphale said, “I saw a lovely little park nearby. We should go see if they have ducks to feed!” And he promptly headed off, leaving Crowley to follow along behind him with a huffed out laugh.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when the elevator door to the Lux penthouse slid open, and the quietness of it all was offset by a clearly pissed off demon. 

Mazikeen Smith was death on heels when she wasn’t angry. In her default state, people still jumped out of the way to avoid her path, and cowered when she looked in their direction. But when she _was_ angry? Well, you’d better just hope you weren’t on her shit list. Or in the way of someone that was. Because you would likely not be walking away with all your limbs intact.

And she was angry right now. _Very_ angry.

She paced for a bit, got a drink from the bar, paced some more. Threw knives at the wall to pass the time. She hurled a knife in the direction of the bedroom doorway, and it sunk into the wall merely inches away from her (former??) employer’s nose.

“Well,” Lucifer said, more a breath than anything. “Something’s got you in a tizzy. Some poor soul catcall you again?”

She wasn’t in the mood for his bullshit, and she hoped her expression conveyed that. “There’s a demon in the city,” she said without any sort of preamble. Right to the point.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed, the demonic blades lodged in my wall were certainly no indication.”

“No.” Dumbass. “Other demons. Not me.”

That got his attention. He frowned. “Explain.”

“Felt it earlier this afternoon. Around two.” (She could have had no way of knowing this, nor understood the relevance, but a flight coming in from London Luton Airport had landed in Los Angeles at precisely 2:13 PM, Pacific Standard Time.) “A demon, and not a weak one, along with something else. Celestial, but I can’t quite pinpoint it.”

Lucifer’s expression had only gotten more serious as she continued talking. A demon in the city was bad news for everyone involved. Demons did not usually leave Hell without reason, so a demon leaving Hell and specifically visiting the city where _he_ was? Couldn’t be a coincidence.

(He was, in fact, correct. The trio from London had only come to this specific city because of the odd presence that had been brought to Anathema’s attention.)

“Don’t kill it,” he said, because he knew Maze was spoiling for a fight, “but find it. Keep an eye on it. See if you can figure out what it’s planning. Ah- Actually…” He tilted his head, eyes glinting with hellfire. “Track it. Get it alone, bring it in. But try to be subtle about it. We don’t need half of Hell’s army storming up here because you couldn’t keep quiet.”

Mazikeen nodded. She could do subtle. And she could _definitely_ do ‘get it alone’ and ‘bring it in.’ “Consider it done,” she said, briefly slipping back into her position of Hell’s worst (best) torturer. She melted into the shadows, disappearing from Lucifer’s view.

Once he was sure she was actually gone (and not hanging around in the rafters or something), he took a seat at the bar and poured himself a glass of scotch. Downed it. Poured himself another glass and downed that too. He poured another glass, glancing down at his own reflection in the amber liquid.

  
“If they think I’ll be going back without a fight,” he mumbled to himself (as he was quite alone in the penthouse), “they’re _sorely_ mistaken.”


	2. Aziraphale does actually own a cell phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley would be fine. He was a capable demon, a smart man, a- a wily serpent. He could wile his way out of any situation. He would come back within the hour, tell Aziraphale about whatever inconsequential thing he found, then they would lie in bed and Crowley would sleep while Aziraphale continued reading his book. That would be what happened. Aziraphale willed it to be so.
> 
> ...The hour passed. Crowley didn’t return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: yes, i know chloe is technically a homicide detective and theres no homicide here at all, but i gave a justification and also i do not care

Aziraphale had been expecting the week they were scheduled to be visiting to go by like that. Free time usually did. Especially when one had six thousand years under their belt. Made all time seem to move oddly, a year going by in the blink of an eye. Crowley once slept for a century and when he’d woken, their relationship was practically unchanged. (Practically, he says, because not long after he’d woken up was the time he’d saved Aziraphale’s books from being blown up. So their relationship was changed. At least from Aziraphale’s perspective.)

He was happily proved wrong. They kept busy, experiencing whatever the city had to offer. Crowley tagged along with Aziraphale on every trip to the library he made. The demon had said it was to keep Aziraphale out of trouble, but he caught Crowley flipping through a book on several different occasions before hastily shoving it back onto the shelf. In the wrong place, of course. 

Aziraphale was all too happy to put it back properly.

The fourth night or so, Crowley had abruptly stood up and cleared his throat. Aziraphale, reading in one of the armchairs in their room, looked up at the sound.

“I,” the demon began. He then stopped, cleared his throat, tried again. “Angel. Would you-” He stopped again, fidgeted with his hands. “Uh, a walk.”

Ah. “That would be lovely, my dear.” 

Aziraphale had noticed something about Crowley. Specifically, about the way he showed affection. Back before the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, when their relationship had technically been something against the rules, Crowley had always been the one instigating most things. He slung an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, he tried to tempt the angel to indulge in things like Gluttony. Or Lust. He was good with the drama, with the forbidden fruit. 

But now that no one was paying attention? Now that casual affection was nothing taboo? It was Aziraphale doing most of the instigating. He set his head on Crowley’s shoulder as they sat and fed the ducks in the St. James, he took Crowley’s hand across the table over dinner, and Crowley seemed thoroughly overwhelmed each time. Small actions flustered the demon more than anything risque. 

It made Aziraphale very happy when the demon just asked for what he wanted. But when he couldn’t find the words, Aziraphale was very good at filling the empty spaces. 

“We passed by a nice little park yesterday,” Aziraphale said as he bookmarked the page, shrugged on his jacket, “shall we go there?”

Crowley nodded, placing his signature sunglasses on his face. 

They walked side by side through the darkened streets of Los Angeles, still bustling despite the late hour. The park was less crowded than the sidewalks outside it. They only passed by a few individuals (and couples). The emptiness was peaceful, however, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale were exactly ones for crowds. 

Aziraphale’s heart practically soared when, after much noticeable hesitation, Crowley looped his arm around the angel’s. 

They were deep enough into the park that the sounds of the city had faded. They were left with just the sounds of the night; crickets chirping, the occasional bird fluttering overhead. The dim orange street lamps weren’t quite enough to block out the glittering stars. The stars that the demon on Aziraphale’s arm had helped create. 

Aziraphale recounted for what was possibly the millionth time in the last decade just how lucky he was.

The peaceful air was interrupted when, without warning, Crowley froze. His grip on Aziraphale tightened as he reached up with his free hand to tear his glasses off, and Aziraphale saw him lick his lips. Scenting the air.

“Something’s here,” he muttered, voice lowered. “Dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?” Aziraphale asked. Was there some ne'er-do-well waiting around a corner to mug them? Had one of their respective offices figured out the truth behind the little shows they’d put on? A large bird? All of these were things that could have made Crowley think them dangerous.

“I don’t know. Almost smells demonic, but…” Crowley scowled. “Wrong somehow. Dampened.”

“Dampened like you?” Both Crowley and Aziraphale’s respective demonic and angelic auras had become less potent after millennia hanging around on earth and each other. 

“Maybe.” He pulled away from Aziraphale, replacing his sunglasses and sticking his hands in his pockets. “I’m going to go take a look. You ought to wait here. ‘Case it is one of them.” 

“I can defend myself just fine, dear.”

“Please, angel? It’d make me feel better.”

Aziraphale sighed. Stupid protective demon. “Fine. I shall head back to the room. But I expect you back within the hour; if you’re not, I will be very worried.”

“Promise. Go on, then.” He waved Aziraphale off.

Aziraphale grabbed his hand, pulling him closer and placing a (blessed, but Crowley didn’t need to know that) kiss on his cheek. “Stay safe, my dear.”

Crowley swallowed thickly, face visibly flushed. “Always do, angel.” He rested his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder briefly, then turned and walked away, hands in his pockets. His casual stroll didn’t quite hide the clear air of worry he held. Aziraphale watched him leave (he did NOT watch his hips), only leaving the park once the demon was out of sight. 

He returned to their hotel room, picked his book up where he’d left it, and sighed.

Of course he was going to fret the entire time Crowley was gone. His partner goes off on his own, in the dead of night, because he sensed something “dangerous.” Who _wouldn’t_ be anxious? He tried reading, but he found himself going through the same sentence four times and decided to give it a rest. 

Crowley would be fine. He was a capable demon, a smart man, a- a _wily_ serpent. He could _wile_ his way out of any situation. He would come back within the hour, tell Aziraphale about whatever inconsequential thing he found, then they would lie in bed and Crowley would sleep while Aziraphale continued reading his book. That would be what happened. Aziraphale willed it to be so.

...The hour passed. Crowley didn’t return.

_Probably just got caught up somewhere._ Aziraphale paced.

Another hour passed. No sign of the demon. Aziraphale tried his cellphone. There was no response.

He walked across the hall and knocked on Anathema’s door.

She answered, tying the knot on her robe any yawning slightly. She put her glasses on and narrowed her eyes at Aziraphale. “‘Ziraphale?” she muttered, “s’like midnight, what are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry to have woken you, it’s just that- Well, Crowley and I went on a little stroll earlier, through this nice little park we saw while out and about yesterday. We were just walking along, you know, and Crowley said he sensed something, and-”

“Please get to the point.”

“Crowley’s missing.”

She blinked. “Are you-”

“He said he would be back within the hour two hours ago, and he isn’t answering his cellular, which you know he _always_ does, and he went to examine something ‘dangerous’ and I’m so worried, miss, that he’s gotten himself into trouble.”

“Okay,” she rubbed her hands over her face. “Alright. Let me get some coffee, and-”

“No, no, it’s okay, I-” he was being silly, some part of him said. Crowley was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. “You sleep, I’ll wake you in the morning, then we can go investigate.”

She pursed her lips. “Don’t freak, okay? He’s probably fine. We’ll find him in the morning.”

“Yes, sure. Right then. See you in the morning, miss Anathema.”

She patted his shoulder a couple times, then shut the door. Aziraphale returned to his room. By the time the sun had risen, he’d paced a hole in the carpet.

He waited until six thirty AM before he couldn’t stand the sight of the orange carpeting or pale cream wallpaper anymore and headed back to Anathema’s room. She was (thankfully) already awake when he knocked on the door, and a cup of coffee for her later and they were off. He rerouted his and Crowley’s path from yesterday, stopping once he got to the point where he’d watched Crowley walk away.

“Last saw him here,” he muttered, “then he went this way…” Aziraphale followed as far as he’d seen Crowley go. Then stopped again. He closed his eyes, casting his senses out for any sign of celestial presence.

There was Crowley’s, faint. He barely noticed it- not due to a lack of strength on his or Crowley’s part, but simply because he’d gone whatever the equivalent of noseblind was to it. Then there was… another. Stifled, yet there. Demonic.

_Fuck._

“I fear it’s not earthly,” he muttered, loud enough that Anathema could hear. “Demonic, in fact.” Unfamiliarly demonic, which Aziraphale couldn’t decide if that was worse than anything angelic. 

“That’s… not good.”

“Decidedly not.”

“Well,” Anathema said, “even if it’s some kind of celestial stuff, it might be worth telling the local police department. They have ways of finding people. Or at least finding clues of some sort, which way he might’ve gone, whether or not anyone took him.”

“Oh, very well. You go do that; I’m going to do a bit of investigating of my own.” 

“Fine. Deal.”

And they went their separate ways.

~

Chloe was bored. And, contrary to the meaning the word usually carried with it, this was a very good thing. Because Chloe caught killers for a living. Which meant if she was bored, there were no killers to be caught, which she would literally never call a bad thing. 

Another reason she was bored (a reason which she couldn’t really decide to call good or bad) was that her partner was noticeably absent. He had a habit of showing up every day without fail, even if there was no murder to investigate, so she noticed his lack of presence. It wasn’t quite _concerning,_ she knew he had his own things to do, but it was odd. 

She sighed. Paperwork wasn’t quite her favorite part of the job.

“Hey, Decker.”

She glanced over. Another cop (whose name she could not remember) stood there, holding a file. “Is that partner guy of yours here today?”

“Not yet. Why? Is there something you need from him?”

“Maybe?” The cop cleared his throat. “You know how he’s always talking about how he’s ‘the devil’ and all that crazy stuff? Well, we got a… case. Thought he might find it interesting.”

That was never good. A case that might’ve had to do with the fact Lucifer was legitimately the Devil usually meant some sort of supernatural interference, which made Chloe’s job incredibly hard. “What kind of case?”

“Well, a missing person one. Which I know isn’t exactly your area. This British tourist lady came in and told us about how her friend disappeared or something- she said he got kidnapped, but we have no proof of that- which, again, happens all the time, right? Tourist gets lost?” That definitely happened often, especially in a big city like LA. “The part I thought your partner might find interesting was the fact she claimed this friend of her was- and I quote- ‘a demon’.” 

Chloe wondered briefly if it was racist to assume all Hell-sourcing creatures were British. Racist to the Brits or the folks in Hell, she wasn’t sure.

“Can I see the file?” she asked.

“Sure, I made a copy.” He handed it over. “I’m just gonna treat this like your typical ‘lost tourist’ case until I get some sorta other evidence saying otherwise. Catch you later, Decker.”

Chloe flipped through the file as the cop walked away. Their lost tourist was a man by the name of ‘Anthony J. Crowley’ (no actual middle name provided, just a J), six and a half feet tall with red hair and… ‘snake eyes’, the lady had written. 

_Either she’s insane, hates this guy,_ she thought, _or a demon got himself lost._

She sighed again. Might as well look into this, she supposed. If it really _was_ supernatural, she wanted to try and solve it before too many people who didn’t know about it all looked into it and found out more than they ought to. 

She snapped the file shut and tucked it into her bag, then stood and headed outside to go pay a visit to the park. 


	3. The ropes were probably originally used for something kinky, knowing him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this, Crowley was very glad, because while he just managed to refrain from cursing out loud, he couldn’t quite school his expression into neutrality. Aziraphale had said there was something weird about that place, and Crowley had just brushed it off as weird angel things. He was now thinking he maybe should’ve taken the warning a bit more seriously. Just because the devil seemed perfectly companionable now didn’t mean he wouldn’t spontaneously decide to smite Crowley for the Hell of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi yeah sorry this took so long i got fixated on a hat in time
> 
> but its here now, and im not giving a specific date or anything for when im uploading the next chapter, because i cant tell you when it's going to be. but i swear to whatever deity you want to believe in that i *will* finish this. eventually.

Crowley woke up slowly.

He woke up slowly, and disoriented, and not knowing quite when he’d fallen asleep. He’d been… taking a walk? Right, yes, he had been in the park with Aziraphale. And he had… sensed something dangerous. So he’d gone off to see what it was, and…

Perhaps whatever it was had been too much for even a demon as strong as him. And had knocked him out. Which didn’t explain why when he opened his eyes, there were not in fact trees nor a night sky above him, and he was not lying on his back in a park somewhere. Instead he was in what looked like a very expensive flat, and he was sitting in a chair. And oh, there was a rope around him. His arms were pinned to his sides. 

His first instinct was, obviously, to panic. As one would likely do were they to find themselves tied up in a strange place. He panicked, and when Crowley panicked, his usual reaction was flight. Shift into something with a few more scales and slither away and out of sight. 

He concentrated. Closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he still looked very much human, and he was still very much tied up.

So he fell back on his second instinct. And started screaming.

“Oh, bollocks, he’s up-”

“Loud one, isn’t he?”

“Oh shut up, Maze. You- Demon- Oh for Dad’s sake would you stop that infernal screaming??”

And Crowley immediately found his voice gone and his mouth glued shut by something other than glue, because (though he didn’t know who it was) it was very hard to ignore an order made by the King of Hell himself. Even for a demon that was not so much allied with Down There anymore.

“Thank you,” said a voice from out of Crowley’s sight, sounding rather exasperated. There was the sound of footsteps, and Crowley felt very cold as the speaker entered his line of sight, because the speaker just so happened to be the boss he had very much betrayed by stopping armageddon a decade or two ago.

“Now then,” said the Morningstar himself, wearing a suit and looking not unlike a supermodel with the form he’d chosen. “Let’s get to business, shall we? You can talk now.”

Crowley could open his mouth again. He tested it a few times, then very hastily began the spiel he’d been practicing had any agents of Hell come looking for him. 

“So sorry, Lord, honestly, what happened back then- big- big misunderstanding. Really, I have got a very good explanation, and-” he cut off as another person came into view, and _oh G- Sa- somebody_ _that’s bloody Mazikeen of the Lilim._ “Ah.”

“You just had to pick up the chatty one, didn’t you?” she grouched, crossing her arms and glaring at Crowley from her post at Lucifer’s right. “Even for someone afraid for their life this is a bit ridiculous.”

“Oh, be quiet, Mazikeen.”

She was still glaring, but he didn’t see a knife on her (which in no way meant she didn’t have one), so he was at least not going to be immediately attacked. So Crowley took that as an opportunity to continue talking. “Accident, it was, well- not quite an accident, I guess I did mean to stop the Apocalypse, but I swear I didn’t-”

  
“That was you??” Lucifer said, and Crowley blanched, because if he wasn’t dead before he certainly was now. For some reason it hadn’t crossed his mind that the King of Hell might not have remembered or recognized that Crowley had been the demon at the airbase all those years ago. “Huh. Guess I ought to thank you, then.”

Crowley’s brain short-circuited. “Er. Beg your pardon?”

Lucifer grinned. “Oh, yes, I’ve found I’ve come to quite like Earth in the last five years I’ve been here. Plenty of things to do. Alcohol is a particularly splendid invention, all the different types and flavors they have. Hardly compares to the stuff down there. And the sex-”

Interrupting the Lord of Hell was probably not Crowley’s smartest move considering his position, but he really didn’t want to hear Lucifer talk about, well… that. So he cut him off with a nervous laugh. “Er, right, yeah. Lots of things on Earth. Great- great things, really. So you’re, euhm, not mad? About the whole, uh, ‘not-pocalypse’ thing?”

The Devil laughed, “oh, not-pocalypse, that’s clever,” he said quietly, then raised his voice again, “no, I suppose I am not. Back then I was a little irritated, I suppose, but that’s all in the past, now, isn’t it?”

Crowley thought the devil used entirely too many commas in his sentences. “Right. Yeah.”

There was a solid minute of silence. Mazikeen coughed into her fist. “So I’m gonna go out on a limb here,” she said, “and say you’re _not_ here to drag Luci back to hell.”

“Oh please don’t call me that-”

“What? No, no, absolutely not. No, never going back _there_ if I can help it. Don’t think I’d exactly get a warm welcome. Ol’ Beezy wasn’t too happy the last time I showed my face in those parts. Tried to, er,” he cleared his throat, “gave me a bit of a tub full of uh, Holy Water?”

Lucifer blinked. Mazikeen looked… well, not alarmed, because nothing alarmed her, but she looked a bit like someone had just told her that her mother liked to knit and bake cookies in her spare time. 

Then the Devil smiled, and Crowley tried not to shiver. “You don’t look very melted to me. Did you manage to avoid getting doused, or did you find some _other_ way to avoid it?”

Crowley said nothing. Because even if the Devil was defying all his expectations and seemed very happy on Earth, there was no guarantee he wasn’t still a tiny bit pissed about the whole ‘being cast out of Heaven’ thing, and there was even less of a guarantee he wouldn’t be a tad inclined to send Hell’s best torturer to go and deal with an angel living on the planet he loved so much.

So instead of providing an actual answer, he made a noncommittal ‘mmnneh’ noise and shrugged vaguely. “Miracles and stuff,” he said.

“I suppose those would do it.” Lucifer then snapped his fingers, looking back to Crowley. “Ah! I knew there was something I had forgotten. You looked familiar, I just wasn’t sure from where, but now I remember.” 

_Please don’t let it be that you remember there was an angel with me at Tadfield-_

“You were the serpent, weren’t you?”  


Oh. “Er, uh, yeah.”

“I thought you looked familiar!” Lucifer sounded very proud of himself for managing to figure that one out. “You had longer hair, then, yes? Yes, you’re ah.. Crawly or something.”

He winced. “S’ uh, Crowley now, sir.”

“Crowley. An improvement, certainly. You’re a Fallen, aren’t you? I know that much, I just can’t seem to recall who you were before..”

“Well that’s not really important,” Crowley said hastily, cutting that line of thought off before it could continue, “is it, now? S’not about who you were before, s’ah.. Who you are now. Reinvent yourself or whatever? Like you and er.. whatever it is you do here?”

The Devil walked back out of Crowley’s sight. Mazikeen, who was looking very tired of these two British idiots, followed, grabbing the back of Crowley’s chair and turning it as she went. 

  
“Well, I do favors for mortals and help the police, mostly,” _he did what??_ “but my technical job is a club owner. Ever heard of a little place called Lux?” He was standing behind the bar, pouring himself a drink, and not looking at Crowley when he asked the question.

For this, Crowley was very glad, because while he just managed to refrain from cursing out loud, he couldn’t quite school his expression into neutrality. Aziraphale had said there was something weird about that place, and Crowley had just brushed it off as weird angel things. He was now thinking he maybe should’ve taken the warning a bit more seriously. Just because the devil seemed perfectly companionable now didn’t mean he wouldn’t spontaneously decide to smite Crowley for the Hell of it.

“Yeah, uh, saw it in the tour guide.”

“I suppose that reminds me,” said Lucifer, taking a sip of his drink and looking up at Crowley with eyes reflecting hellfire. “If you aren’t here to drag me back Down, then why exactly _are_ you here? I know Los Angeles is a bit of a tourist spot, but I would think all the hellish interference here might ward someone off. Especially someone so eager to avoid meeting anyone from Management.”

“Erm.” There were a selection of ways to answer this. “Friend of mine said there was something weird here. She wanted to come, and- and I, uh, needed a holiday. Like a, erm, killing two birds with one stone or whatever.” Technically not a lie.  


“I see.” He set his drink down (it was quickly taken by Mazikeen) and walked around the bar, coming to a halt in front of Crowley and leaning down so he was face to face with the demon. “I feel as though you’re keeping something from me. So tell me, Crowley, what is it you-”

Except he never got to finish his statement, because the next minute and a half turned far more exciting than the last half hour had been. There was the telltale swooshing of wings, wings far too large to belong to any bird, and a man-shaped being clad in beige and tartan was suddenly standing on the balcony, brandishing a flaming sword. (Not the flaming sword that Lucifer had thrown into a dimensional rift a while ago, but the flaming sword that had been gifted to the Guardian of the Eastern Gate a few thousand years back. Enchanted objects had a habit of returning to their original owners in times of need. No mailman was going to get in the way of that.)

  
The angel focused on Lucifer first, and his eyes widened, and he almost got a chance to raise his sword and say something that was trying to be threatening.

Then the elevator dinged. Every ethereal or occult set of eyes turned to look at the blonde woman that had just emerged, looking down at a file folder and not at the scene around her.

“Hey Lucifer, I got this case earlier, and I was hoping you might be able to give me some…” and now she did look up, first at Lucifer, then at the demon tied to a chair, then at the angel brandishing a sword. “...information…” 

There was a decidedly awkward minute in which no one talked or moved or did, well, anything.

“What the _Hell_ is going on here??” the woman said, incredulous, and pointed at Crowley, “why do you have a missing person tied to a chair??”   
  
“He’s a missing person?”

“Well of course he is,” the angel said, “he just walked off into the dark after sensing something dangerous and didn’t come back, what else was I supposed to think? I had Anathema report him missing right away-”

“How did you even find me, angel?” Crowley asked, looking pained, “There’s the bloody devil himself and a demon of the Lilim mucking things up, I didn’t think you’d be able to sense me among it all-”

“You really _do_ have snake eyes!” The woman suddenly interjected, and Crowley then realized his sunglasses were missing from his face. “I thought that lady was insane-”

“Do you _know_ this angel, Crawly?”

“It’s Crowley, I told you-”

“Can someone please untie him I can’t touch hell-forged binds-”

“She said you had eyes like a snake and I thought she just really didn’t like you-”

“OH WOULD YOU ALL SHUT UP!!” The various overlapping conversations were all cut off by the shout from Mazikeen, as well as the knife she stabbed into the bar’s countertop. Given the counter was made of glass, this then caused a very loud crack and half the counter to fall and shatter.

Dead silence.

“Thank you,” she huffed. “Sort out your own damned problems, I’m not dealing with any of this.” Swiping Lucifer’s glass from the still intact part of the counter, she trudged off and got into the elevator, the doors sliding shut without another word.

“Er. Right.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. He looked to the human woman, and gave her a pleasant smile. “Hello. Would you be a dear and, erm, untie my companion? I’m afraid I ah.. Can’t touch the ropes without getting burned.”

“Sure,” she said, and sent a glare Lucifer’s way when he opened his mouth to say something that was probably a protest. She set the file in her hand on top of the piano as she passed, leaning down to make quick work of the knot keeping Crowley tied up. He leaped out of the chair practically the second the ropes fell to the ground. He managed to refrain from turning into a snake and hiding in Aziraphale’s jacket, but he did very quickly (quicker than a human would’ve been able to) make his way over to the angel and get in a prime position for hiding behind him.

“Now, then,” said Aziraphale again, trying very hard to clear the awkward tension in the air, “I feel some introductions may be in order.”


	4. Through a series of coincidences, guesswork, and sheer dumb luck, people actually manage to get things done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s then Chloe decided that no; whatever ‘British prick’ showed up and interrogated this man was decidedly not Lucifer. His aesthetic could be described in a lot of words. 'Gay ass English teacher' was not any of them, in any order they may be placed. (Except maybe the ‘ass’ part.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER I HAVE DEPRESSION
> 
> anyways heres this finally

While there is currently a bit of a showdown going on in a penthouse apartment in downtown LA, and it’s all very exciting, we’re going to take a step back for a moment. In order to fully grasp how we arrived at this situation, let’s examine the time leading up to the meeting.

After the parting of ways in the hotel, while Anathema headed to the police station to file a report of nothing but honesty, Aziraphale took to the skies to do a bit of birds-eye-view searching for their missing demon. At another time he might have enjoyed the flight (whatever issues America held, the cities from the sky were absolutely stunning) however his mind at the present was filled with nothing but worry. 

_ Dangerous, what had Crowley meant by ‘dangerous’? Obviously something bad enough he wanted me to stay away from it. But  _ **_what?_ **

His mind immediately jumped to all the worst conclusions. Heaven and Hell had left them alone so far, but who knew how long that would last? Maybe their luck had run dry. The longer he flew, the more he could think, which just meant more worry.

When his fly-by revealed nothing, Aziraphale decided to take a more human approach to the situation. Retracing his steps. He did stop by all the establishments they had visited that day even if he knew Crowley would be calling him an idiot for doing so.  _ I was still with you when we went there, you daft angel. _

Actually no, Crowley would never outright call him daft to his face.

Once he got to the park, he cast his senses out to see if he could still catch any trace of Crowley, or whatever had caused him to vanish. 

_ There. _

Faint, very faint, but a path of Occult following the one they had taken through the park. Adjusting his jacket in more of a nervous motion than any issue with the article itself, he set off, trying to keep his pace even just in case anyone might have been watching for anyone acting oddly. He was being a little paranoid, yes, but better to have been paranoid and right than careless and sorry. 

Strolling as though it were a casual afternoon and he was not looking for any possibly-kidnapped missing person, he headed along through the stone path winding through the trees. It looked a bit different in the day time. 

He stopped once he recognized the area as the place where their walk had ended the night previous. Sensing the area once more, he could track his own Ethereal energy making a U-turn and heading back in the direction he’d come. Crowley’s Occult, however, continued on, with a sharper taste than his usual laid-back air. 

Crowley’s path seemed to zig and zag, halting and hovering at some points then doubling back, then making a sudden right turn and moving forward with no interruptions. The feeling behind it remained cautious the whole way through. Then there was a sudden flash of panic.

Then the path stopped.

Here.

It was a small clearing in the flora, with a (completely dry) fountain in the center and benches around the edges. Surprisingly empty for the time of day. Except for an individual curled up on a bench, a blanket around their shoulders and their head tucked into their knees. Slightly odd- Aziraphale may have been wearing many layers, but he had some choice miracles to keep him cool. This individual had to deal with all forty degrees (Celsius, that is) and was still all bundled up.

“Ah- pardon me,” Aziraphale said, approaching the stranger, “but you wouldn’t happen to have been in this park last night, would you? Perhaps on the very same bench?”

The stranger jerked as though they’d been struck, looking up at Aziraphale with wide eyes. An expression akin to a cornered animal. Oh dear.

“L-look man,” he stuttered, “I- I ain’t seen nothin’, okay? Ain’t seen nobody out here. Just back off, y’ dickhead…”

Aziraphale frowned. That wouldn’t do. “I’m terribly sorry, but I really do need to know if you saw anything. You see, my companion has gone missing, and I last knew he was-“

“I ain’t seen  _ shit!!”  _ The stranger bared his teeth. “Stop fuckin’ asking me!”

“Oh- I’m afraid you don’t quite understand..” Aziraphale really hated doing this whole threatening, but he was feeling ill with worry and really tired of being in America at this point. He was getting answers. Giving his best Gabriel impression and smiling like a fox about to strike, he leaned closer to the cowering man, arms crossed behind his back, everything in his posture saying he wasn’t to be trifled with. A bit of that ‘demon vibe’ he’d picked up from hanging with Crowley so often thrown in for good measure. “Tell me what you saw.”

The man gulped audibly. “I- I saw a guy… kinda squirmy, poking around. He didn’t see the lady, he was-“

“What  _ lady?” _

“I don’ know! Bitch from Lux, I think, looked like the chick Jimmy described that threw him out. Scary. Freaky face. Th’ damn grim reaper or some shit…”

Lux. That was that ‘night club’ they’d seen earlier, wasn’t it? Bugger.

“Well, thank you for your assistance, young man. It was very helpful.” Dropping the whole ‘going to harm you’ act, he gave the man a slight bow, then turned and walked away. He wanted to fly right there, but he didn’t know quite what he would be facing once he arrived, so maybe he could stand to do a little preparation first…

_ Meanwhile… _

Chloe was only mildly sure she wasn’t going to get in trouble for doing someone else’s job.

This wasn’t really her jurisdiction. She was a homicide detective. And there wasn’t a single dead body relating to this case. But the other officer had approached her directly, and had willingly handed over the files, so there was  _ technically _ no reason she  _ couldn’t _ do a little investigation. Hell, maybe a dead body would turn up, then she could have a perfect excuse.

...She wondered briefly if her desensitization to corpses was a bad thing. Then decided that since she wanted to continue this line of work, it was probably for the best. 

There weren’t many leads. The man she was looking for had gone missing on a walk through with his partner some time between nine and ten the previous night. He’d apparently “sensed something dangerous” (to quote the report given by the woman) and gone off to investigate. Which- personally Chloe thought that was a dumbass move, but maybe she didn’t know the whole story.

The park he’d gone missing in was probably the best place to start. She might be able to find some kind of evidence, maybe a scrap of clothing, DNA if she was lucky. 

The woman had thankfully provided a map of the route the two individuals had taken before the missing one wandered off. It was rather unassuming. No signs of a scuffle anywhere, well lit (even in the daytime), straightforward and lacking anywhere that could be used for a sneak attack. 

She continued along the path, following what seemed like the most natural route to her. If it gave no results she’d take a different one. Her intuition was, however, as trustworthy as always. A homeless guy sitting on a bench. And if he was anything like the other homeless people in Los Angeles, he hadn’t moved since the night before.

Chloe, deciding if this wasn’t a good time to use her job title to the fullest there wouldn’t be one, walked up to the man curled up on the bench. He seemed to be asleep, however as Chloe approached he sat straight up and glared at her. Either faking it or just a  _ very _ light sleeper. “Whadd’you want, lady? Ain’t got nothin’ to steal.”

She pulled her badge off her belt in a smooth, practiced motion. “LAPD, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“What?” he snapped, suddenly a good bit more panicked-looking. “I ain’t done nothin’!”

_ He’s probably done something _ , Chloe decided based on his tone of voice, but that wasn’t what she was here for. “You haven’t been accused of anything,” she kept her voice calm, “I just need to talk to you about a possible kidnapping you might’ve witnessed last night.”

He paled. “Look, I already told that British prick, I don’t know what I saw-”

_ British prick? Has Lucifer been here already? How did he get here ahead of me? I haven’t even mentioned the case yet??? _

“-So you can either ask your creepy gay ass English teacher lookin’ buddy for my statement or come back if you’ve got something else.”

It’s then Chloe decided that no; whatever ‘British prick’ showed up and interrogated this man was decidedly not Lucifer. His aesthetic could be described in a lot of words. 'Gay ass English teacher' was not any of them, in any order they may be placed. (Except maybe the ‘ass’ part.)

She sighed. This was getting nowhere. “Alright, well, thank you for your time, sir.”

“Whatever, lady,” he muttered, curling back up.

That was… kind of a bust. Except now she knew someone else had talked to this man. Someone British. That wasn’t Lucifer. Which- considering the woman that had made the report and her companions were visiting from Britain, that had to mean something. Not a coincidence.

Maybe she ought to pay Lucifer a visit, just get his perspective on the case...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short and bad but its been in my drafts for months now and im just. so tired. i dont want to look at it anymore. i dont know if ill get the fifth chapter out before 2020 hits honestly. i *might* get it done before i get out of school next year. But who knows. Ive basically lost interest in both Good Omens and Lucifer tbh, so its really hard to find inspiration and motivation to continue this
> 
> thanks @ everyone who did read and enjoy though. i saw all your nice comments and they really warmed my heart, if i had the spoons to reply i would. hope you like this half-assed mess.

**Author's Note:**

> a little info for both folks who haven't seen Lucifer
> 
> Lucifer - The literal Devil who's taken a vacation from Hell to be the owner of a nightclub in Los Angeles. He helps the LAPD on homicide investigations, though it's mostly an excuse to hang around one Detective Chloe Decker. He's very honest about who he is, though humans seeing actual proof of divinity has a habit of driving them insane. Most folks don't believe him when he says he's the devil. 
> 
> Mazikeen - Also known as Maze (last name Smith for ID purposes), she followed Lucifer out of Hell. Originally she didn't like Earth and wanted to return home, but over time she grew to like it more. She's friends with Detective Decker's daughter Trixie.
> 
> Chloe Decker - A homicide detective for the LAPD. She and Lucifer have a bit of a *thing* going on, and by the time this story takes place she's seen proof of his divinity and has come to accept it. She's the result of a miracle- her parents couldn't have children, but an angel named Amenadiel (Lucifer's brother) was sent down to bless her mother. She's capable of nullifying Lucifer's immortality and invincibility, so he can get hurt around her.
> 
> and for folks who haven't seen/read Good Omens
> 
> Crowley - "A demon who did not fall so much as saunter vaguely downward," he's a demon and he's very bad at it. He was the Serpent of Eden, the cause of original sin and humans getting kicked out of the garden, but that's about the only really demonic thing he's done since. He wears sunglasses 24/7, drives a Bentley, and redesigned the M25 to look like a demonic sigil. One of his main hobbies is gardening. However, he doesn't so much 'garden' properly than yell at his plants and make them grow better out of fear.
> 
> Aziraphale - An angel that runs a used bookshop in Soho (not the one in New York) and very adamantly refuses to sell anything. He's a bit too bastard-ish to be a proper angel, much like Crowley is a bit too nice to be a proper demon. He thinks tartan is stylish and hasn't updated his style in a hundred years. For a basic rundown of his personality, the impressions most people make upon meeting him are that he was "1) intelligent, 2) English, and 3) gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide." 
> 
> Crowley and Aziraphale had a hand in stopping the Apocalypse about twenty years back as of the time the story's set in. 
> 
> Anathema Device - The descendent of a prophetic witch named Agnes Nutter, she has the ability to see auras. She believes most conspiracy theories and is an avid supporter of things like saving the whales and stopping deforestation.


End file.
